Game On…


“Night, Joe, get home to that wife of yours,” Sam nudged his last drunken customer out before bolting the double doors. He turned, stifling a yawn, and jumped, “Fuck! Fuck! Betty! I thought everyone was gone, you scared the shit out of me!”

She grinned, her bare legs swinging playfully as she perched on the edge of the bar, “Well Boss, it’s the end of my first week here so I wanted to ask you how I’m doing,” she replied.

Taking the stool next to her, he ran his fingers through his long hair and sighed, “You’re doing great Betty. You’re fitting in real good around here. But it’s late, I’m tired.” He noticed that she had kicked her shoes off and had a small black spider tattoo on her ankle, matching the black polish on her nails.

Sliding down from the bar to stand beside him, her eyes flickered across the room, “You ever play?”

He glanced behind him at the pool table and looked back at her, “Yeah. It’s been awhile, but yeah.”

“How about a game then? Celebrate my first week?”

He looked at the freckles that peppered her nose and cheeks as she smiled up at him. He’d already noticed that she was pretty, really pretty; short spikey auburn hair, a little curvy body and those eyes – moss green and locked onto his, “Ok. One game. It’s late.”

“Watch yourself Sam, she’s just a kid, 22 at most. Hell, she could be your kid,” he thought as he switched on the overhead lamp and set up the table.

“You wanna break?” he handed her a cue.

“Nah ah. Never played before. Best you show me the basics,” she stood opposite him, the light catching her copper highlights, the green felt on the table accentuating her eyes. She had hooked the cue across her shoulders, wrists hanging loosely over it, opening her chest wide.


“Nope! You could say I’m a pool virgin,” she giggled.

She watched him lean over the table, ready to take his shot. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbow, revealing his sleeve of tattoos beneath the dark hair. She had been watching those hands and arms all week as he pulled draft beer and lifted cases of stock – strong, sculpted arms, with muscles that flexed just right. His hands so big they made her wonder how they would feel around her throat.

Crack! The balls scattered in all directions, but none sank into any pockets.

“Going easy on me?” her eyebrow arched as she bent over and lined up her shot, aiming and striking the white. She grinned at his surprise when two balls pocketed.

“You said you never played?!”

Still crouched over the table, she looked up at him from under her lopsided fringe, “Beginners luck, I guess.”

She straightened up and played with her cue, sliding her hand up and down along its length, running it through her fingers, “I’ll take stripes… that’s how it works if you sink both types of ball, right?”

“Game on, pool virgin,” Sam smirked as he hit the cue ball.


“Two spots, one stripe and the 8 ball left. And look whose turn it is?” Betty taunted circling the table and easily pocketing the remaining stripe.

“We never settled on what the winner gets,” said Sam, thinking, “What the fuck man? She’s sexy as hell, but keep it together.”

“How about… whatever they want?” she smiled sweetly across at him before slowly walking around to his side of the table, “Need a bit of space here,” she said over her shoulder and he stepped back to give her room.

Fully aware that he was standing directly behind her, Betty lifted onto her tiptoes and stretched over the table, knowing that her short denim skirt could not possibly hide her lace underwear. She parted her legs, her face flushed at the thought of his eyes on her now damp pants. She paused, glanced back over her shoulder and was satisfied to see his eyes roaming over her thighs and exposed bum. Very satisfied to see the bulge in his faded jeans.

She took the shot sank the 8, but remained crouched over the side rail, “Looks like I won.”

She felt his bulk behind her and his hands on her waist, “And what does the winner want as her prize?”

Arching her back, she leaned her ass into him, grinding herself long his thigh, feeling the rough denim of his jeans scratch against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. He responded, leaning his full weight over her before licking her earlobe, his breath hot and fast.

“You sure, Betty?”

She reached around in response and rubbed her hand along the thick bulge at his button fly, pressing herself into him more.

His fingers ran up from the back of her knee, to the edge of her underwear, teasing the fabric before pulling it to one side and sliding his thick finger inside her. She was more than ready for him, grinding her hips, her hands flat on the table to keep her steady.

She felt a second and third finger being pushed into her, filling her, pumping against her tight walls, as his other hand wrapped itself around her throat, pulling her head slightly back from the rough felt. She closed her eyes.

“Fuck Betty, you’re so wet!” he moved his hand faster, feeling her muscles clench around him. He squeezed a little tighter on her throat and loved the sound she made, not quite a groan, not quite a scream; guttural, feral, animalistic.

Her body arched, she came savagely over his hand, her hips bucking uncontrollably, before she sank her face back down onto the table.

Taking hold of her limp body, he turned her to face him, loving the crimson blush across her chest and cheeks. He lifted her to sit up onto the side bar, pushed her skirt to her waist and pulled her pants off her. Raising his eyebrow in a silent question his hand went to his fly. Still breathing heavily, she looked up at him and nodded.

He popped each button open and pulled out a rock hard, deliciously thick cock and stroked himself – his eyes locked on her face, her eyes locked on his crotch, pupils wide and dark as a bottomless well.

She shuffled back further onto the green fabric and parted her legs for him. Sam climbed onto the pool table and, kneeling between her open thighs, guided his pulsing erection to her soaked lips, teasing her for just a second, pressing himself against her hot, ready cunt, but he could not wait any longer to be inside her. Jeans bunched around his hips, he sank into her, feeling the heels of her little feet dig into his butt cheeks, drawing him deeper inside.

Under the glow of the overhead lamp they fucked like wild animals, clawing and biting at each other, gluttonous for each other. She felt his hot liquid fill her when he came, and kissed his stubbled throat while he cried out.

He opened his eyes and focused on her face; those freckles, those eyes and, knowing this was not the end of the night, bent his head to finally kiss her mouth.

“Pool virgin, my ass,” he grinned against her lips and breathed in her giggles.


Copyright, 2018,

All rights reserved.


Heat… Elsa


Part 1 of the story is here.

Elsa purposely swayed her hips as she walked away from the farmhand, hoping he was watching. She had caught him looking at her several times since he started working there, each time he looked away lightening fast and tried to act as if he hadn’t been staring. It had been so long since she had any male attention that at first she thought she was imagining it, but seeing the way his eyes devoured her as she handed him the glass of lemonade reassured her that she wasn’t crazy.

“C’mon Duke! Inside!” she held the screen door open for the aging lab cross and he shuffled in to find his favourite place on what used to be her father’s chair.

Six months now since he had passed, leaving her to manage the small holding alone. Her Momma had lost her fight against cancer 4 years prior and Elsa had felt there was no choice but for her to leave the city and return to care for her old Dad. Jody, her baby brother, was dumber than a brick and couldn’t be relied upon to do much more than drink beer and shoot at the cans once he’d had his fill. He was pretty, and always had a girl on his arm or in his bed but it was never an option for him to step up and take on responsibility. Rolling her eyes and cursing under her breath, thinking to herself, ‘Baby brother! The dumb fuck is 30 freakin years old!’ then, running her fingers through her hair as she said out loud to Duke, “Well, I guess that makes me an even dumber fuck, huh Duke?”

Sighing, she went to the sink to wash the fixings for a salad and looked out the window across the field. Her hands submerged under the cool flow of water as she washed tomatoes, cucumber and lettuce, humming one of her favourite songs, she watched him digging. The sunlight caught the golden hairs on his arms and chest, his skin glistening with a coating of sweat as his muscles flexed. God he was beautiful! Not too muscular, not a body building type, his definition came from hard work, tough physical toil and labour. His dark blue denims cupped his firm ass perfectly and she watched, captivated, as once again he lifted his hat to swipe his forearm across his brow. The strong midday sunlight caught his blonde hair, now wavy from the moisture of his sweat, shining golden in its rays.

She felt her breath quicken and the heat that spread between her legs came as a shock to her. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had touched her, the last time anyone else’s fingers, other than her own, had brought her pleasure. Without noticing she was doing it, her hands traced her own jawline, fingers deliciously cool from the water, down along her collar bones and reached under the neckline of her vest. Too hot for the restrictions of a bra, her fingertips grazed her nipple, drawing it out of its hiding place and playing with it as she watched him. Feeling the growing wetness soaking her underwear, longing to feel some touch there, she slid her hand away from her breast and down into the waistband of her shorts, parting her legs and leaning against the side of the sink for support. Her fingers caressed and stroked, her eyes on his body the entire time, face flushed, small groans escaping her open lips.

The sensations from her fingers sent her higher and higher and her eyelids slipped closed as she let herself fully embrace the building pleasure spreading from her core outwards. Her fingers working furiously, other hand pushed up under her top squeezing on her hard nipple, she sank to her knees as her orgasm tore through her, eyes squeezed tight, unselfconsciously crying out. As the aftershocks pulsated though her, a slow smile spread across her lips as she tried to regulate her breath again. Opening her eyes, unfocused still as she rearranged her clothes, she brought her hand up to her face and looked at her coated fingers before sucking them and imagining him doing the same.

A rap at the screen door, “Ma’am? Sorry… Elsa? You ok there?” as his head appeared around the doorframe, a look of alarm on his face, “Did you fall?” He rushed over to help her to her feet as she fumbled in a panic to ensure her clothes were in proper order.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah I’m fine, I ah… yeah I’m fine. Sorry… You decided to come have some lunch?” she replied, feeling ridiculous and embarrassed and hoping to God that he hadn’t seen what she had been doing. As he helped her to her feet she was hyperaware of her pruney fingers and the musky scent of heat and sex that hung around her, and for once in her life, hoped that the odour of her sweat from the extraordinary heat would mask it.

“You want to wash up some while I fix us something?” she asked, trying to regain her composure and some sense of control over the situation.

A slow, lopsided grin spread across his face as he gave one nod of his head and said, “Yeah, sure. It’s Bill, by the way,” and he offered his hand properly in a handshake.

Something about the way he smiled at her made her wonder if he had been at the screen door longer than he made out, but she just smiled back and pointed him towards her small bathroom down the hall from the kitchen. She watched his slow, easy walk across the room, and allowed herself the fantasy that he had watched her and liked what he saw. Feeling a new throb begin between her legs as she turned back the counter to assemble a salad, she grinned to herself, humming her song again under her breath.


Copyright, 2015,

All rights reserved.